Words and music by Ryan Martin.

Recorded live to tape at Meadows of Dan, Carrboro NC 2013-2014, except ‘Stripping at the Nail’, which was multi-tracked via cassette 8-track.

Mastered by Noel Summerville.

LP pressed at Optimal and housed in full colour reverse board sleeve with printed inner bag and download code included (MP3/FLAC).

Customers who pre-order the vinyl edition direct from Blackest Ever Black will receive a full download (MP3/FLAC) of the album via email on or shortly before the official release date.

This release will also be available to buy separately on digital formats.

LP tracklist:

  • A1. The Singing Bile (7:18)
  • A2. Little Jammy Center (8:58)
  • A3. They’re Playing Themselves (4:46)
  • B1. Paean delle Palme (3:46)
  • B2. Stripping At The Nail (8:23)
  • B3. Memorize Them Well (8:15)


Digital tracklist:

  • 1. The Singing Bile (7:18)
  • 2. Little Jammy Center (8:58)
  • 3. They’re Playing Themselves (4:46)
  • 4. Paean delle Palme (3:46)
  • 5. Stripping At The Nail (8:23)
  • 6. Memorize Them Well (8:15)
Secret Boyfriend

Memory Care Unit   BLACKEST045

Let me be the first to point out that some of the ideas I am presenting are, shall we say, on the speculative side. Many of the chapters rest on solid foundations, such as my work on phantom limbs, visual perception, synesthesia, and the Capgras delusion. But in other, more elusive cases, I have let educated guesswork and intuition steer my thinking wherever solid empirical data are spotty. This is nothing to be ashamed of: every virgin area of scientific enquiry must first be explored in this way. When data are scarce or sketchy and existing theories anemic, we must brainstorm. We must roll out our best hypotheses, hunches, and hare-brained, half-baked intuitions, and then rack our brains for ways to test them. 

A new long-form offering of poignant, isolationist machine music from Secret Boyfriend. Eschewing the cryptic and compact song-sketches that characterised his 2013 Blackest Ever Black LP, This Is Always Where You’ve Lived, Ryan Martin instead guides us through vast interior topographies and nerve-damaged ambiences that comfort and deceive like memory itself.

Beginning with ‘The Singing Bile’ – minimal synth submerged and subjected to an almost oceanic pressure – the tracks are mostly crude, extended live improvisations, recorded straight to tape. Martin’s loose intention was to subtract himself from proceedings and “let the music play itself”, but the erasure is not quite complete: on the contrary, each piece feels distinctly authored, and charged with personal significance. The atrophying loops of ‘Memorize Them Well’ broach the elegiac grandeur of Gas and William Basinski, while ‘Paean Delle Palme’ summons E.A.R., Af Ursin, and the clammy, opioid exoticism of :zoviet*france:*’s Just An Illusion. The album is largely instrumental, but there are two weighty exceptions: the sprawling, drumbox-driven space blues of ‘Little Jammy Centre’ and the guileless yearning of ‘Stripping At The Nail’. This is electronic pop undressed, unravelled and mapped onto the infinite wave.

Expansive and enveloping, Memory Care Unit‘s offer of comfort and refuge is difficult to resist. But this amniotic idyll is frayed and haunted at its edges, and ultimately treacherous. The return to innocence it promises may be possible, but the price is separation, alienation and loss.